The Architect’s Son
Icarus climbs an unseeable string to a sun that shines the way
The architect turns; he can do nothing but say
‘I am an architect; I made a minotaur’s maze
Oh I not protect you from the monster that was your curious ways
What could I do when you flew too close to the sun?
Why should it be that an architect’s son
Will build the same kind of building as his father has done?’
Icarus knows like the back of his hand the promises he has made
Oh, but the sky is unmappable land; Icarus is not afraid
He says, ‘You are an architect, you’ve got an architect’s mind
I cannot do what you do, when there’s so much to look for, so much to find
I wanted to feel the heat and the light on my skin
Why should it be that an architect’s son
Will build the same kind of building as his father has done?’
There’s a shepherd who stands on the rocks unaware as Icarus falls to the sea
Why should he notice; why should he care
Why should it, why should it, why should it, why should it be?
Icarus finds an unfindable grave
The smile of the sun does not change
The feathers dissolve in the salt and the waves
And the architect flies on alone, and nothing remains